Free love has this, different from gold and clay,
That to divide is not to take away. 
Like ocean, which the general north wind breaks
Into ten thousand waves, and each one makes 20
A mirror of the moon—­like some great glass,
Which did distort whatever form might pass,
Dashed into fragments by a playful child,
Which then reflects its eyes and forehead mild;
Giving for one, which it could ne’er express, 25
A thousand images of loveliness.

If I were one whom the loud world held wise,
I should disdain to quote authorities
In commendation of this kind of love:—­
Why there is first the God in heaven above, 30
Who wrote a book called Nature, ’tis to be
Reviewed, I hear, in the next Quarterly;
And Socrates, the Jesus Christ of Greece,
And Jesus Christ Himself, did never cease
To urge all living things to love each other, 35
And to forgive their mutual faults, and smother
The Devil of disunion in their souls.

...

I love you!—­Listen, O embodied Ray
Of the great Brightness; I must pass away
While you remain, and these light words must be 40
Tokens by which you may remember me. 
Start not—­the thing you are is unbetrayed,
If you are human, and if but the shade
Of some sublimer spirit...

...

And as to friend or mistress, ’tis a form; 45
Perhaps I wish you were one.  Some declare
You a familiar spirit, as you are;
Others with a ... more inhuman
Hint that, though not my wife, you are a woman;
What is the colour of your eyes and hair? 50
Why, if you were a lady, it were fair
The world should know—­but, as I am afraid,
The Quarterly would bait you if betrayed;
And if, as it will be sport to see them stumble
Over all sorts of scandals. hear them mumble 55
Their litany of curses—­some guess right,
And others swear you’re a Hermaphrodite;
Like that sweet marble monster of both sexes,
Which looks so sweet and gentle that it vexes
The very soul that the soul is gone 60
Which lifted from her limbs the veil of stone.

...

It is a sweet thing, friendship, a dear balm,
A happy and auspicious bird of calm,
Which rides o’er life’s ever tumultuous Ocean;
A God that broods o’er chaos in commotion; 65
A flower which fresh as Lapland roses are,
Lifts its bold head into the world’s frore air,
And blooms most radiantly when others die,
Health, hope, and youth, and brief prosperity;
And with the light and odour of its bloom, 70
Shining within the dun eon and the tomb;
Whose coming is as light and music are